Flame And Freeze
by Ariadne1
Summary: Draco muses fire... And the fire of Ginny Weasley. Ginny ponders ice... And that of Draco Malfoy.
1. Fire

Flame and Freeze

Flame and Freeze

**A/N**: I haven't written in about 2 weeks, so my conscience finally kicked in. And so I present you with Flame and Freeze, a two-part fic. I do plan to add to it eventually. I don't suppose this has much romance, though. The parts that follow these two will.

** **

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters and so on are copyright © to J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

Fire

Fire mesmerized Draco.

He could sit by a fireplace for hours on end, watching as the flames flickered and swayed, the slight puffs of wind making them shift and change shape, their movements never stopping. Watching, as they turned from gold to red to orange. Listening to the crackle, watching as the tongues of fire slowly-ever so slowly-burnt down to ashes: it's ultimate form of ending.

It was a dangerous thing, fire. It could eat up entire forests, destroy buildings and houses. Tear down mighty and powerful objects. It could kill without a second thought. Without a rein on it, fire could kill and master all. If not for one thing.

Ice.

Where there was good, there was bad. Where they was light, there was dark. Each needed the other to survive, to keep alive. They needed each other. And so, where there was fire, there was ice. 

Ice countered fire. It froze it in its tracks. Stopped the forceful and lethal creature. 

Some would say that ice killed fire.

But others would also say, fire killed ice.

Draco agreed with neither.

***

Fire.

Even in its name Draco could see energy. Power. Life. Vigor.

Perhaps, yes, it was dangerous. He could see no other way to say it. But a little danger was good. He liked danger. Perhaps he even lived for danger. The rush he got. He may not flaunt it, but nevertheless, danger made him feel... important. Like he really mattered.

To him, danger was beautiful.

And fire certainly was beautiful.

As a young boy, Draco remembered sitting by the fireplace alone. One time, he had fell face in. His entire left eyebrow had burnt off, and his face was scalded. His father had made him remain there, after a furious scolding, beside the fireplace. With his burnt eyebrow and scalded face. 

The entire night. 

He had cried and cried, but that only infuriated his father even more. That night, at the tender age of five, was when he had stopped crying. Never again, after that night, did he shed a single tear. 

Not one.

But that hadn't stopped Draco's intense admiration for fire. If anything, he worshiped it even more, admiring it for being able to do that to a human. A person, a wizard, a Malfoy. 

His father had healed his wounds in the end. Albeit grudgingly, making sure Draco knew that he was only doing so because Malfoys could not go through life disfigured.

But fire had done that to him, and his internal scars were not healed. He kept them with him, inside him, like a precious, dangerous gift. 

***

But Draco also knew that fire could exist in more ways then one.

He had seen fire in people, burning from their eyes, shining out from them, vibes of power reaching people around her.

Yes, this particular fire-his fire-was a her. A powerful, magnificent creature. And she was fire. Draco's fire.

He could feel her vibrating out when he spoke to her. Or sneered at her, in many cases. 

But no one understood.

He did that purposely. For otherwise, she would burn out. Her fire would be extinguished, by a person who could so easily have her. Who, with a single hand, could reach out and grasp this amazing girl. But, who was so stupid, so ignorant, so blind to her, that he could not see her true self, her fire.

All was well, because she was _Draco's_ fire.

He deserved her. He kept her alive. How could she not see that? Where Potter tried to kill her fire, he blew wind on it, trying to make it flare up, to be its very best. Because Draco understood his fire.

And deep inside, he loved his fire.

And he would capture his fire.

***

Ginny Weasley _was_ fire. She burned, she glowed, and she drew Draco toward her.

He could sense her very being calling out to him. Unknowingly, maybe, but still, always, calling out to him. She didn't want to be, perhaps, but Draco knew.

Knew that she needed him.

As fire needed ice to survive. And as ice also needed fire to survive.

And so Draco knew that he needed her.

But she was blind- to his silent calls, to the hidden messages he tried to send out in every sneering look and mocking word.

For ice was cold. And could not admit to needing anything. Anything.

***

She angered him. The same way that fire also angered him.

Because they both–or perhaps they were one–when chose a task to be done, ignored all else.

Fire only had one aim – to burn out all. In many cases, that was firewood. It would burn and burn, and eat up every part and piece. Every shred of the wood in the fireplace. And in the process, grew and grew. It build up, using every chance and hope to add to itself. Then when everything was gone, with nothing to fuel it, it was gone. But in the end, it died out.

Draco was angry that something so mighty could grow and grow, then in the end, die.

He felt that each and every thing should have only one end. It was too hard to keep watch of everything that could end you. 

Something that starts the life, and another that ends it.

Fire's end should be ice. Or ice's other form: water. Not lack of substance to keep it growing. It should be able to grow with nothing. It should live on as ice lived on, only dieing when ice did.

Ginny Weasley's aim was Potter. He knew it, as did almost everyone else. And that was the thing that angered him.

Not her family, not her money or her status.

It was the fact that she could let herself do something like that, treasuring every little gesture and smile Potter threw so carelessly. Because he knew if she kept on that was, she would die. Like fire did, when all was gone.

He wouldn't let her go like that.

She would only go when ice did. He promised to himself and swore to himself that she wouldn't die that way. It would be a waste for an amazing creature to go in such a meager fashion. 

She should be hailed and worshiped and known for her power. Instead she was standing in the shadows, ignored, overlooked.

Disregarded, taken for granted. Like fire was. 

***

Draco would catch his fire. He would catch he and hold her, and show everyone that she was his. His and only his. 

_Draco's fire._

He would show them her prowess and strength, and they would watch in awe.

He would help her to be everything she could. There would be no one that mattered more that him in her world.

And there was only her in his.

Only her.

And only him.

Forever, together, the two of them.

As it was meant to be. 

Written long before their time, in books not meant for mere mortals' eyes.

Fire and Ice.

**Fire**

** **

**A/N:** I'll get the other part, **Ice**, out soon. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about my other fics. I would love you forever if you review and let me know what you thought. As long as it's nice. Or polite mean.


	2. Ice

Flame And Freeze

****

**A/N:** Like I promised (Or did I?) here's Chapter 2, **ice**. After this, well, we'll have to see.

**Disclaimer:** Ginny, Draco, Harry (Potter) and all are copyright © and belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

**Ice**

Ice intrigued Ginny.

She didn't know why, or how, but it did. It amazed her that something could be so cold, so hard, so stony. It was so hard to crack, to leave a mark across its surface, to break through the coldness. It shied away from all who wanted-or even tried-to approach it. Ice kept in the cold, never letting heat in. 

But-in the end-it _did_ melt. Somehow, one way or another, heat, fire, warmth would come in, squeeze in some small crack or opening. And then it melted, slowly, into water, liquid. But still cold. However, if left by the warmth for long enough, it eventually warmed up, adjusted. The thing was getting the heat in. It was so hard to break through that terrible exterior. But one thing could.

Fire.

Fire could melt ice. It might take time, energy, perseverance, but fire, in the end, could master ice.

Or so some people said.

Then again, many also said that ice was the master, that ice could freeze the fire.

Ice certainly was powerful. If strong enough, with the necessary help, it could freeze everything. Stop what it didn't like, destroy what it wanted to destroy. But fire was there to melt it, each and every time.

Ginny herself agreed with neither of those sayings. Or perhaps she agreed with both.

***

Ice.

The name itself sent haunting chills up her spine. Brought tingles to her body. It was so cold. Frozen. Stony.

It was so chilling; it lingered behind as a silent cold remembrance of its very being. It scared her. But it touched her as well. It was so sad. 

She didn't believe that anything should have to feel that kind of cold it its own heart, in its very soul. She couldn't imagine having that chill, that frozen feeling everyday.

She had first touched ice when she was a small, small child of five years. Felt its coldness.

Charlie had taken her out to the pond that he had magically charmed to freeze into ice. They were going to go ice-skating. Ginny had run out in excitement without any warm clothing and slid and fell on the ice. She had never felt such cold before. 

So much that it scared her.

Forever after that she believed it was better to die than to live a life like ice did. 

Cold and alone.

She had told her mother later that day that she was going to melt all ice in the world, "because it's cold and alone and sad." Brave words from a small child, and her family had merely chuckled, her mother just thrusting a jar of bluebell flames in Ginny's cold hands.

What none of her family had realized was that she was serious. Dead serious. She didn't ever want anyone to feel that way. And if she saw someone that way, she would melt them. Because she knew that indeed they were cold and alone and sad. And afraid.

***

Ginny knew that there were people like that out there somewhere. She had seen pain and had known the feeling of being scared and alone. It was terrible to be alone. She couldn't bear it, having no one to call out to, to talk to, to confide in. You could beat her, threaten her, torture her, scorn her, and still, the thing that frightened her the most of all would be loneliness. 

She wanted to break through, get where no one had gone before. Show him she cared.

Him. Ice. They were one and the same.

He sneered and mocked and jeered at her, yet she wanted to help. Because she saw something deep inside his eyes that no one else saw. Something powerful and wanting; a hopelessness, a sadness, but also a strength. 

But it couldn't have been _her_ he called to...

She tried to reach to Harry, tried to touch him. But Harry wasn't ice, he had love and warmth and happiness. And then there were times she felt she was dying, disappearing-and someone brought her back.

With his coldness, he brought her back, showed her where she needed to be. Reminded her of those innocent words as a child that perhaps had molded her very self.  

He was the one she would melt. The one she would help.

***

She knew he was cold.

Draco Malfoy and ice meant the same thing. Cold and hard.

Maybe she couldn't melt all the ice in the world, but she could help him. And she _wanted_ to help him, to show him love and life.

She knew he needed her. To warm him, to breathe fire into his cold and frozen heart. 

But he had to let her in. He had to _let _her reach out to him, to warm him, to show him.

He kept her going. As he needed her, she also needed him. Even if she couldn't, or shouldn't, she did. She did.

***

He was different. Ice was different.

She knew that. He replaced love and caring with silent anger and jeering.

Maybe he didn't know how to love. Maybe he never _had_ loved. And maybe even a part of him didn't want to love, wanted to stay in his cold, lonely world, pushing all intruders out. But she wouldn't let him push her out. She would reach to him, right into the stony depths of his cold soul and pull out the person she knew he really was inside.

Part of her, a very small part, was angry with him–and ice–for being so cold. For _letting _himself grow into a lonely, friendless person, scorning all who tried to help. She didn't think it was fair to him. And to all who wanted to reach to him.

She was angry at ice, for slipping away from the grasp of all who touched it.  And so it was forbidden.

Forbidden to go near, forbidden to touch, forbidden to hold. Or was it was forbidden to her?

So really, it was his fault that she couldn't touch him. Touch his heart. 

Imagine her family's remarks and jeers. They would laugh, scoff at her, joke about it ever afterwards. Then they would be angered. They wouldn't believe that she could love someone so cold. Or that someone so cold could love her. And maybe he couldn't. Maybe he really couldn't love her, and maybe he didn't. But she did. She loved him.

She loved him the way he was; she accepted the way he was.

And as much as she wanted it to be otherwise, she couldn't forget him. Couldn't leave him, the thought of him. Couldn't regard it as a mere crush and move on. Because it _wasn't_ just a crush.

It was part of her. Part of her soul. Part of something so deep inside it moved with her through the day and stayed in her thoughts through the night. 

***

She'd never wanted something so much in her life.

Never needed something, _someone_ this much, so that her entire being called out to him. 

Her heart yearned for him. Her soul sang to him. Her very being lived for the next look, even if it was a scorning glare. For words, even if they were spiteful and heart wrenching. For then she at least knew he noticed her.

She hated not being able to hate him. She hated the way she relied on him so much.

But she also loved him.

And she couldn't have him.

People said you always wanted what you can't have. Perhaps that was true, as he was certainly forbidden to her.

Forbidden. Forbidden to think of holding him. Forbidden to think of touching his lips, warming his soul. He was forbidden fruit.

She was forbidden to love him.

Forbidden love.

But she loved him nevertheless. 

As it was meant to be.

Fire and Ice.

**ICE**

**A/N:** You really don't know how much reviews are appreciated. (Unless you're an author too.) They're a writer's best friend. So review!


End file.
